


Interludes

by unpossible



Series: The Last Traces of Smoke [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpossible/pseuds/unpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months is a long time to miss your mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stormy Monday

**Author's Note:**

> These interludes will make no sense unless you've read "A Mating Moon", part 1 of this series.

 

Derek drags himself through his first shift back at work, sorts out the 10K in cash for the apartment and stands in the living room for too long, breathing in the scent of Derek-and-Stiles. He sighs when it starts getting dark and drives back to Beacon Hills, slows right down as he passes Rosa’s.

He drives ten below the speed limit, suddenly leery of encountering any of the Beacon Hills law enforcement and having some kind of record for the Sheriff to possibly look up, one day. He shakes his head, not sure if he’s being ridiculous or smart. Possibly both. When he passes the welcome sign he sighs and takes the turnoff to Peter’s house, a tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere, bordering the woods.

His uncle has already opened the front door and gone back inside while Derek was still coming up the drive. “Derek.” He greets his nephew from the kitchen in the back of the house before Derek’s even out of the car. They never talk about it, but one of the things that keep them in regular contact are these brief moments of not having to hide their true natures. It’s the last slice of home they have left.

Well. _Had_ left. Derek, now, possibly, has Stiles. His heartbeat quickens at the thought and he bounds onto the porch and inside.

“Uncle.”

They stare at one another for a moment, then Peter’s mouth quirks. “How was your weekend?”

“Different than you pictured,” Derek returns.

“Clearly.” He turns back to the stove, stirring something Derek recognizes immediately. It’s one of his grandmother’s recipes.

“You’re going to stay away from him,” Derek says flatly, resisting the pull of that scent, of memories, of family.

His tone is deceptively mild. “I can’t imagine our paths would have any reason to cross, Derek. A high school student-”

“You’re going to _stay away from him._ ”

Peter sighs. “You’re not planning on bringing him around for dinner, then, I take it? I made-”

“Do _not_ bring up Grandma,” Derek says.

“Of _course_ I’ll mind my own business,” Peter says, long-suffering.

“Because you always have before,” he sneers.

“But that was different,” he says, surprised, and turns to face Derek. “Surely you understand _that_.”

“Explain it to me.”

Peter is moving forward, hands out in a parody of innocence when he stops, inhaling Derek’s scent without the mask of cooking for the first time. “What- why do you-” His eyes flick to Derek’s. “What have you done.”

“I haven’t done anything, and you’re explaining-”

“ _Derek James Hale_ ,” he says, and Derek loses his breath completely at how much Peter sounds like his own sister in that moment, like _Mom_. “Have you sent that boy away? Your mate? Are you _mad?_ ”

“My relationship with Stiles is none of your-”

“He is your _mate_ , boy. You recognized him, he accepted you. You can’t throw that away, Derek, you _cannot_ be intending-”

“I haven’t thrown anything away and he is none of your business.”

“You are my only family, you are, of course, my business. Derek, _don’t do this._ ”

He stops in the middle of another stonewall because the pain in Peter’s voice is vicious and real. For once, there’s no manipulation there.

They stare at one another for a moment and then Derek says quietly, “He’s seventeen.”

Peter’s brow wrinkles. “Human laws-”

“Still have to be lived by,” Derek interrupts, not wanting to have _that_ debate again.

Kate had deserved to die. No question. But it was one hell of a risk that put them all under suspicion, and Peter had done it without consulting them. “And it’s not only about the law. He needs time.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “You’ve sent him away. You smelled happier than this yesterday, even _after_ you’d seen me.”

“I’m giving him some time to think. It’s not over,” he says, then thinks for one terrified moment, _it could be_ , “but I won’t overwhelm him into something he’s not ready for. I want him to make a real choice.”

Peter relaxes, all of a sudden. “You’re protecting him.”

“Of course.”

His face spasms too swiftly for Derek to parse what it meant. “No _of course_ about it. The mating instinct is strong, but we’re still human enough to screw it up, to protect ourselves instead of our mate.” Suki’s ghost hangs between them.

There’s an awkward pause, and then Derek says, wolf-stubborn. “So. You’ll stay away from him.”

“I will.”

“No cryptic remarks to Stiles, or the Sheriff or anyone else. No ‘running into them accidentally’ at the supermarket. No contact at all.”

“I swear.”

Derek hesitates. He’s going to have to accept that. “And no more fucking women waiting outside my apartment, either.”

“Of _course_ not,” Peter says snippily.

“How exactly is it _of course not?_ ” Derek demands, exasperated.

Peter sighs, like Derek is somehow challenged. “Because you’ve _found a mate_ , of your own accord. I wouldn’t interfere with that,” he says, like he’s the most non-interfering person that ever lived. “I would never.”

“You couldn’t honestly have thought I was going to find a mate in some random Omega you manipulated into fucking me during the mating moon,” Derek scoffs. “I thought this obsession of yours was all about pups. Stiles isn’t going to be producing a Hale heir anytime soon.”

“Of course not. But I.” Peter hesitates, then sighs. “I suppose I should probably explain myself. Now that it’s- over.”

“What’s there to explain? You wanted to rebuild the Hale pack and you wanted to use my offspring to do it.” Derek steps back, sickened at the reminder.

Peter sighs. “Always looking on the surface, Derek.”

He raises his brows, “Well, I learned the hard way not to look any deeper.” The minute he says it he’s sorry. Peter is fucked up, they all know this, no point rubbing it in.

“Point,” his uncle says, too lightly. He licks his lips, looks just past Derek’s shoulder. The hairs on the back of Derek’s neck stand up, picking up on his uncle’s tension. “I believe we should be building up the pack,” he says, low and intense. “That’s true. There’s strength in numbers-”

“That’s Laura’s call,” Derek says. They’ve had this conversation many times before, and while he doesn’t agree with his uncle, he can’t exactly dismiss Peter’s unspoken terror that something like this could happen again. They could be targeted, it’s possible. Hunters. Other packs. Life is rarely easy for creatures like them.

“We both know why I am no candidate to expand the pack,” Peter says. True again. Peter hasn’t touched another woman since the fire. It’s another thing Derek feels he can’t fix, has no right to try.

“Right,” he says instead. “So you thought you’d raise _my_ kids.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “We both know I’m the worst possible candidate to raise a child, Derek. An innocent child, raised by someone in my state of mind? They’d be literally better off raised by wolves. _Rabid_ wolves.” He sniffs. “From _Alabama._ ”

Derek ignores the jibe that has its roots in a ridiculous pack-feud from the 1800s. “Then why-”

“Laura is healing. Slowly. That Blair was a horrible mistake,” he rolls his eyes and Derek huffs in silent agreement, _douchebag personal trainer_ , “but she tries, at least. However bad her taste in men, she is out there, meeting people. Prepared to risk falling in love.” Derek blinks.

“You cut yourself off. Not just romantically, Derek, you barely even cultivate friendships.”

He stares at his uncle. “Let me get this straight. You were _worried_ about me? About my lack of _relationships?_ ”

Peter shrugs.

“You were concerned I was alone and your solution for that was that I get some random stranger pregnant and let you raise the child.” He says it slowly, trying to emphasise the insanity. “In what universe does that make sense?”

“I knew you’d resist matchmaking like the plague,” Peter says simply.

 _Correct,_ Derek thinks. He folds his arms.

“A child, though. You’d never turn your back on your own child.”

 _Correct again,_ Derek thinks, and then blinks. “So- wait. You were playing _chicken_ with me that whole time? Thought once the baby was born I’d snatch it out of your arms and then, what - mission accomplished, the pack is expanding and I have an emotional connection I can’t reject.” He flings his arms out and snarls. “Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“It made sense to me,” Peter spreads his hands and shrugs. “Worst case scenario, Laura would swoop in and take her niece or nephew. But I was fairly confident that wouldn’t-”

“You are fucking _insane_ ,” Derek stares.

“Why yes, this we already knew,” Peter says with a small, cold smile.

“And so... now this masterful plan is shelved because I went and found myself a mate.”

“I only ever wanted to see you happy, Derek,” Peter says. “You’re young enough to move on and have a good life, you should have someone by your side who understands you.” His voice drops and he says, “John and Lucy would have wanted that for you.”

There’s silence. Peter is fucking lucky he doesn’t play the John-and-Lucy card too often. Derek suspects it hurts him to say Derek’s parents’ names. “I don’t even- I have no idea what to say to you right now.”

“Well that’s nothing new,” Peter says, and turns back to the stove like nothing strange has occurred. “Now, are you staying for dinner?”

He stares at his uncle’s back, still breathing hard, still angry. And then, for no reason at all, he thinks about the scream that had torn from his uncle’s throat as they had arrived at the house that night and smelled-

Derek and Laura had frozen in disbelief, held back by the strong arms of several deputies. Not Peter.

He had surged through the line of cops and firefighters and flung himself into the still-burning house, screaming for Suki. Derek’s overheard some of the guys at the station who were there that night swapping stories about it, marvelling at the mad strength Peter’s grief had given him. They have no idea what he could have done if they’d actually come anywhere near stopping him. It was a miracle all three of them had been too stunned to shift.

There’s a scar along the back of Peter’s neck where a burn never quite healed, having absorbed some of the mountain ash and wolfsbane that had kept the wolves trapped, disoriented.

Derek’s human father had tried to save the kids. The coroner found later he had bled out from smashing a window with his bare hands. He’d managed to push Andrew through it but Derek’s brother’s human lungs had already inhaled too much smoke and his heart had stopped there on the lawn, in front of them. So close, _so close_ to saving just one more Hale. Jacob’s blackened body had been slumped against the same window inside the house, unable to cross the line of mountain ash.

Peter had torn the house to pieces looking for his wife. She’d been found at the bottom of the  basement stairs, hunched over Emma’s lifeless body. They’d likely fallen down the stairs, disoriented by the smoke and wolfsbane and panic, probably the first to die. Derek’s mother they’d found in the attic. Judging from the wounds on her arms she’d tried breaking every wall in the house, searching for a way out for her family. He knows she would have heard every moment as they died, the snapping of Emma’s neck, Jacob’s harsh screams as he burned.

Derek takes a breath and forces his eyes away from Peter’s neck.

“Did you make dumplings,” he says, thinking of that scar and a thousand other wounds his uncle carries.

Peter nods to a bowl half-full of green-speckled dough and doesn’t turn around. “Grandma always said to let them rest first.”

He sighs, long and shaky. “Yeah,” Derek husks out, starts toward the table. “I could stay.”

 

 

 

They’re actually having a fairly normal dinner, talking sports and the park ranger’s new efforts to protect the local wildlife when Peter suddenly says. “You and Laura are the only family I have left.”

Derek lowers his fork. “I know.” there’s something in his uncle’s voice that has him tensing.

“I love you both.”

“I. I know,” he says again, with more difficulty.

“You mustn’t trust me, Derek.”

Derek just stares. _What?_

“When Laura returns. You must. Watch me.”

“What are you talking about,” Derek says flatly. He feels suddenly sick.

There’s a long silence. Peter stares down at his plate. Finally, he sets his knife and fork down neatly on his plate, and takes a quick breath. “I have. Dreams,” he says, low and quick, eyes cast down. “I take- I. I kill her. Laura. Become the alpha. I’m _strong_. Fierce.” His face twists, “ _Insane_. I rebuild the pack, I force the bite on anyone I think will add to our strength, I don’t even ask. I force _you_ to obey me.”

Derek can’t breathe. He stares across the table, at Peter’s shadowed face. His uncle stinks of panic and guilt, it’s mixing with the smell of the goulash and he knows with certainty he’ll never eat this meal again.

“You- you wouldn’t,” he finally says hoarsely. “You’d never kill Laura.”

“I most certainly hope not,” Peter says after a long time. He lifts his head and meets Derek’s eyes. “But you must not trust me. You must never turn your back. And never leave her alone with me.”

Derek pushes back from the table. He can’t stay here.

“Please promise me,” Peter says, like this is a perfectly normal conversation, like madmen beg Derek to watch out for their own treachery every day. “I am already a monster, I know this. But Derek. I don’t want to be the man who destroys what is left of our family.”

“I’ll remember,” Derek chokes out. That’s a promise he can’t help but keep.

 


	2. Friday on My Mind

 

“...retired means retired,” Stiles is saying, his voice harder than Mark has ever heard it. He stops, startled, in the middle of the kitchen as Stiles drops his backpack at his feet and shoulders the front door closed.

He keeps his voice low, sort of tired and angry, and Mark hears just snatches after that as he jogs up the stairs, “...fun for me?” and then “...exactly what you wanted out of it...” “...owe you that sort of favour.” Then Stiles’ bedroom door slams shut.

Mark sinks gingerly down at the kitchen table, positioning his knee the way he’s been practising all day. He hates the waiting, isn’t looking forward to more surgery and physical therapy, but damned if he’s going to endanger his return to the job.

He turns his head and stares at the draining board, the new coffee mug that had mysteriously been added to their motley collection while he was in hospital. It comforts Stiles, somehow, Mark had watched him this morning, gripping it tight the way he used to do with the picture of his mother.

“Dad?” Stiles calls down the stairs, wary. “You there?”

“In the kitchen,” he calls back. Thank God they’d installed a downstairs bathroom years ago. Mark’s just gonna live down here until after the pins are out. Stiles and Scott had moved his bed into the study before he even got home. Good kids.

“Hey,” Stiles appears in the doorway, still a little pale. “Man, I guess I’m not used to you being back yet.” He casts a swift glance at Mark, clearly wondering how much he heard.

It’s not until he opens his mouth that Mark realizes he’s not going to pursue it. Whatever the crisis was, Stiles is past the worst of it now, and pushing it will just stress him more. Stiles won’t talk until he’s ready to talk. It had taken panic attacks and dramatic weight loss of for Mark to figure that out five years ago, grief counsellors be damned.

“Heard the door slam,” he says mildly instead, “figured you had some kind of gaming emergency with Scott the way you vanished up the stairs.”

Stiles’ body sags in unmistakable relief. “Nah,” he says, and heads straight for the fridge, “all his emergencies nowadays are Allison related.”

“He’s lucky to have a friend like you,” Mark says. His heart aches in his chest, knowing his son has secrets, big secrets he can’t trust to his father anymore. This is the start, he knows. The start of letting go.

“Eh,” Stiles shrugs, his head buried in the fridge. “ _Hey_ , how much crap have you eaten today?” He leans back, eyes narrowing in accusation.

Mark sighs. This is his life? He’s even kind of missed the arguments about turkey bacon and how it’s _absolutely not bacon_. “A man’s gotta eat,” he says with a shrug and _bam_ , done, Stiles embarks on a lecture about deputies enabling his junk food habit and how they’re gonna incur the _wrath of Stiles_. It’s all so normal, and Mark lets go a little of the clench inside his chest. For now.

However he got there, Stiles is okay.

 


	3. The Tale of the Magic Thursday

 “Sheriff?”

Derek pokes his head through the open door, voice more tentative than he wants it, but he can’t seem to help that.

“For now,” the other man mutters, obviously not intending it to be heard. He lifts his head, “Who’s that?”

“Sir,” Derek steps inside. “Do you have a minute?”

“Got nothing _but_ minutes,” Mark Stilinski says with only the slightest edge of grumpiness. Probably both bored and nervous, waiting for surgery. His eyes are narrowed, clearly flipping through a mental photo album as he looks Derek over, an album that’s probably categorized into something like got-em, couldn’t-prove-it, couldn’t-tell-if-they-did-it, witnesses and victims.

Fifteen year old Derek is in that album somewhere and he doesn’t want to use that but he can’t exactly pretend he’s someone else. “I’m-”

“Derek Hale,” the Sheriff says without hesitation. A beat later Derek realizes there’s probably a hey-guess-who-just-joined-the-fire-department connection in there, too.

“Yes.” Derek comes all the way in and takes the seat the Sheriff gestures to. He can’t quite bring himself to think of Stiles’ Dad as _Mark_ , even though in a professional capacity he probably should. He sighs silently. _Fucking Beacon Hills_ , indeed.

“Well, it’s a surprise to see you, Derek.”

“Yeah,” Derek murmurs. _I bet_.

There’s a pause. “Did... you have a reason for stopping by?” It’s kinder than he needs to be, really, the Sheriff is a good man, because Derek is suddenly achingly tongue-tied and acting like he’s mentally challenged.

“I uh, wanted to talk to you about Stiles.” Yeah, _smooth_ , Derek.

“About Stiles.” Stilinski blinks at him, extremely surprised for about half a second before it flips to worried and wary, knowing that Derek is an EMT. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine.” _Now_ , Derek thinks. “I uh, don’t know if he mentioned to you that we met a few weeks ago?” Derek tries to keep his heartbeat steady and thanks his lucky stars the other man is human and not a werewolf. Then he concentrates very hard on looking as though he has not spent any time at all fucking this man’s son into a second-hand mattress.

“No,” Stilinski says slowly, eyeing Derek with growing suspicion. That answers one question at least - the Sheriff knows his son is gay. “No, he _didn’t_ mention that.” He hesitates, then says, “How _many_ weeks ago, exactly?”

“Roughly four,” Derek replies, and a complicated series of expressions cross the other man’s face.

There’s a long pause, and then the Sheriff says, “I’ve been worried about Stiles.” His gaze doesn’t move from Derek’s face. “He’s been looking all wrong to me – tired. Worried. Scared. Though he started looking better these last few weeks.”

Derek doesn’t answer but his hands relax. He's been worrying, too. Wanting to know how Stiles is coping. If he's honest, that's at least half of why he came. He can't - _won't_ \- contact Stiles. But he'd needed to know he hasn't messed things up again.

“I thought it was about my injuries, my heart,” the Sheriff says slowly. “Maybe about me getting back on the job. But it was something more than that. Wasn’t it, Derek.”

Derek hesitates. “He told me some things that were... weighing on him. Yes. But I won’t betray his confidence, Sheriff.”

“He told you things.” Now the eyes are narrowed, voice flat. “My son doesn’t tell _anyone_ his problems. He talks about everything and anything else, but he keeps his own burdens to himself.”

Derek glances down at the floor, thinking that over. “I’m sure you’re right,” he finally says. It explains a lot, actually. Why Stiles was so determined to do this on his own, for one thing. “But I think I was maybe in the right place at the right time.”

“Were you. And what place was that, exactly?”

“The place where it was all getting to be too much,” Derek says. He knows damn well that’s not what the Sheriff wanted to know, he’s too much of a cop not to chase after verifiable facts and clues that will let him piece it together for himself. But as honest as Derek wants to be, he’s not actually _crazy_. No way is he telling the Sheriff he spent a hot weekend in bed with his underage son. “Look-” he hesitates, but he’s in too deep now to change what comes next.

“I came here,” he says on a long breath, “to let you know that.” He runs out of air, has to take another breath, wonders vaguely when the air conditioning broke. “I’m interested in Stiles.”

“Interested.”

“In dating him.” A line of sweat trickles down the back of Derek’s neck.

“My seventeen year old son.”

“Yes,” Derek says, and doesn’t let himself flinch.

The Sheriff watches him through narrowed eyes. “Exactly how involved are you already?”

“More than I should be,” Derek says. He hesitates, then says, “He lied to me about his age.” That’s close to an admission, and he says slowly, “I... sent him away when I found out he wasn’t legal yet.”

“And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here.”

“Asking my approval?” the Sheriff folds his arms and leans back. The body language is pretty clear. “You can’t possibly expect me to be happy about the age difference.”

“Not- exactly,” Derek says. He takes another breath. “I want to be with him. I want to date him. To take things slowly.” He makes sure to look the other man in the eye when he says, “I don’t want to cheat him out of his high school experience. I sent him away, and I’m keeping my distance. If he finds someone else, some other high school kid, I’ll never appear in his life again.”

“And if he doesn’t? If he’s still single when he turns eighteen?”

“Then I’ll be on your doorstep asking him out on a date.” And just saying it feels so damn freeing. He closes his eyes for a second.

“So, no. I’m not asking for your approval, Sheriff. I imagine both of us would feel better to have it,” Derek adds, because it’s true. “But I won’t stay away from him just because you’re worried I’m too old. I know he’s young, and I know what it’s like to lose that too soon. I hope you can believe I won’t do that to him.”

There’s a long silence. Derek stares at the elevated knee, the reason all this happened in the first place. The pins come out tomorrow, and then the work of physical therapy begins.

“These... problems Stiles talked to you about.” When Derek flicks his gaze to the Sheriff’s face, it’s set and grim. “Exactly how bad were these problems that you won’t describe? How much trouble was he in?”

“Probably nothing like you’re imagining,” Derek says. “He wasn’t doing drugs or thinking of suicide or anything like that.” And maybe that’s a little full-throttle, but they’ve both seen plenty of the harsh edges of adolescent life in their jobs, and the Sheriff is almost certainly imagining all of that and worse.

“Was he in harm’s way?” And that’s the tight, terrified voice of a worried father.

Derek takes a deep breath. “In a manner of speaking,” he says finally, then adds, “but he’s not any more. And the problem has been – dealt with.”

“By you,” he says, and it’s not a question.

“By Stiles, really. He just needed a little help.”

“And if I ask my son about it, he’ll clam up and get that sick look on his face like he’s letting me down, like he’s a disappointment-”

“Please don’t ask him,” Derek cuts in. “It’s his worst fear. He’ll lie to you and then he’ll hate himself for lying.”

The older man’s jaw is flexing and Derek can actually _hear_ his teeth grinding, which has got to be hell on the enamels. “I know that’s a cruel thing to ask,” he says, low. He can’t imagine anything worse than knowing Stiles was in trouble, was hurt, and having to settle for never knowing _what_ or _who_ or _how_. Can’t imagine not being allowed to help.

That draws keen hazel eyes to his. “You know that, do you.”

Startled, Derek just looks back at the Sheriff, thinks numbly that he should have realized that Stiles’ brains and intuition didn’t come from just one side of the family.

“Tell me the truth, Derek,” he commands softly, and Derek does. It just spills out, unplanned.

“I’m in love with him,” he says simply. “I’m in love with your underage son. He’s it for me. He’s the one. If he’ll have me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure he never has a reason to regret it. If he gets into Harvard, I’ll quit my job here and move across the country to be with him, if he wants me to. If he wants to build an orphanage in Africa I’ll stand by his side and hammer nails. He’s the one.”

When he finishes Derek looks down, amazed to see that his hands are shaking. “Uh,” he says, because that had gone a little further than he’d intended. “They don’t actually let you keep your service weapon in your hospital room, do they?”

There’s a snort of laughter and he takes the risk and lifts his head.

The Sheriff isn’t armed. “First time you ever said it out loud?” he asks, and he sounds more amused than furious. Derek just nods weakly. The older man takes a long breath and shakes his head.

“You’re forbidden to tell Stiles this for at least ten years, and this does not mean you have my blessing,” he warns, and Derek just nods again. Then blinks, because that implies-

“His mother was sixteen when I met her. I fell in love right on the spot.”

Derek just stares.

“I was supposed to join the Air Force,” the Sheriff adds wryly. “Had a whole ten-year plan. Then she swung past me on another guy’s arm and everything else flew out the window. I joined the Sheriff’s department, my parents screamed at me for months, and she wouldn’t even give me the time of day. She was dating some cheating scumbag...” he shook his head, mouth wry and his eyes sad.

“Holy shit,” Derek says.

It startles a laugh out of the other man. “It gets worse – I was only eighteen myself. _And_ I already had a girlfriend.”

This time, _Derek_ laughs.

 


	4. Ruby Tuesday

 

Maybe it’s tragic to love your job this much. Mark doesn’t know, doesn’t much care, honestly. But sure as hell the song had it right, _you don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone_.

_Damn_ it. He’ll be humming that all day now. Well. As long as he doesn’t do it while taking witness statements, s’probably okay. He’d had no idea how popular he was until he was almost not-Sheriff anymore. He’s been getting a _lot_ of leeway from the good citizens of Beacon H-

His through processes grind to a halt because there, right in front of him, is his potential future son-in-law or whatever the hell the state of California is going eventually to let them call it.

Hale is crouched by the cyclist, talking low and soothing while he rotates the wrist, eyes watchful. He tucks the guy’s arm up against his body and listens to something, shocky rambling, most likely, but Hale just nods, like he’s got nowhere else to be and nothing else to do. He glances past his patient to his partner, gives a swift nod that clearly conveys something specific, and Hale’s eyes drift away, along the road to the police cruiser where his gaze sharpens. Mark sees with amusement his nostrils flare and a second later he straightens his posture, turns his head and yep, spots Mark.

Their gazes catch and hold and it’s not exactly kind but he is gonna laugh and laugh about this later, about the careful nod Derek sends his way, the slightly nervous lip-lick before Hale refocuses on his patient.

There’s something comforting about knowing you can intimidate your kid’s SO, even when he’s not a kid himself.

Besides. _Nanna’s_ coming to town.

No _way_ Hale’s escaping that unscathed, even if there’s still two months to go on the self-imposed isolation and Stiles’ sad face continues to make appearances at the breakfast table.

Mark takes a breath. Because that sad face is still ten thousand times better than the set, hopeless look Stiles had tried to hide in the weeks B.D. (Before Derek). Muzzy with drugs and pain, and worried about his future, Mark hadn't known how to talk to Stiles, how to fix a problem he couldn't identify. He’s not thrilled with the idea of an older boyfriend, but he’s never going to stop being grateful for whatever it is Derek did that took that look off Stiles’ face.

He’d had hopes, for a while there that the older man thing might disappear in a puff of smoke. Stiles had gone on an actual date, with a girl, even. Some skinny little blonde thing, Enid or Erin or something.

But nope. Next morning Stiles had given Mark that same slightly-absent smile and poured his morning coffee into that damn stupid Twilight mug that had made an appearance sometime during Mark’s recovery, that one Stiles uses every day like clockwork.

And then there’s been a couple of visits to _that_ club, where Stiles thinks he’s being so damn stealthy that his father has no clue where he goes. Those outings make Mark a little more twitchy, he has a pretty good idea of the kind of hook-ups that go on in those places and he knows Stiles is growing up, that if he’s not already sexually active, he will be pretty soon. Mark would just prefer it happened with someone his own age, in the usual way. Not some grimy hook-up with another club-goer who’s probably hopped up on something-

He sighs. Well. Stiles isn’t stupid. He has to trust his son, let him make his own choices. Which brings him back ‘round to watching Hale again. Apparently Stiles _has_ chosen. Chosen someone who can’t seem to _shave_.

_I’m involved with your underage son_. What does _involved_ mean, exactly, in that context? Mark’s sorry as hell he hadn’t pursued that at the time. But Hale had looked so... haunted. Genuinely nervous. Kind of like he looks now, walking his patient to the back of the ambulance with fully half his attention on Mark.

Mark smirks, just a little. He waves on another two cars of rubberneckers and pulls out his phone. Sends a text to Hale right there and then, just to be an ass. _You busy Friday lunch?_ he asks, and goes back to supervising the new deputy who is taking down the names of the various witnesses. He keeps an eye out, sees Derek dig into his back pocket as he climbs into the passenger side of their bus, and _oh glory_ , his partner pulls out in a wide circle and drives right past Mark just as Hale reads the message.

He glances up, frowning and confused, and Mark just grins as they coast slowly by. _Nanna_ , he mouths, knowing somehow Hale will understand.

Hale slumps against the back of his seat, thumping his head a little harder than necessary into the upholstery. Mark lets himself grin, then, and turns back to his witness, humming a jaunty tune.

 


	5. Friday I'm In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, this is so self-indulgent but I couldn't resist the call of Nanna. There might be more in this verse, I don't really know.

 

Lunch is- not torturous. Mostly.

He’s nervous. It’s apparently unavoidable. Derek’s spent years not giving a shit what anyone thought and now in the space of one weekend his life is completely inverted. Suddenly he wants to be _approved of_. Worse than that, he wants that most unlikely of all things - to be _liked_.

Ugh.

He manages to work out a split-shift arrangement so that he has a guaranteed lunch hour without having to actually _take a day off_ to meet _Nanna_ , so. He makes the drive south to Inverell with slightly moist palms and a solid sense of gratitude to the Sheriff for not doing this in Beacon Hills. Peter would have a field day. Peter would _tell Laura_.

He swallows the sick lurch when he thinks of Peter and Laura.

Anyway, Derek knows well enough the Sheriff is still hoping Stiles will find another target for his affections, and so doesn’t want word of their lunch getting around town. The kid’s been on at least one date, Derek had seen them drive past the goddam station, because that’s just the kind of luck he has, some blonde wisp of a girl that probably smiles at Stiles without having to psych herself into it first. Derek had buried himself in the basement checking supplies until the next call-out to prevent himself trying to listen in.

He hasn’t seen them together again. He won’t fucking ask the Sheriff how it went, either.

So that train of thought has left him feeling a little sick when he walks into the tiny Italian place and spots the Stilinskis. He crosses the restaurant swiftly and slides the empty seat, not sure if there’s hugging on the agenda but determined to avoid it if he can. He’s not fucking _family_. He’s not sure what the hell he is.

The Sheriff is watching him through narrowed eyes. “Derek,” he says slowly. “This is my mother, Kristina Stilinski. Mom, this is Derek Hale.”

“Mrs Stilinski,” Derek manages to get out. He offers her his hand and doesn’t think about what his mother would have thought of how he’s behaving. Because she’s _not fucking here_.

Why the fuck hadn’t he realized this would hurt?

Stiles’ grandmother is slim and startlingly red-haired. “Derek,” she accepts his hand and then wraps her other hand over the top, changing a distancing tactic into something warm and real. There are hints of Eastern Europe in her words. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He looks at her properly. _Fuck_. She has Stiles’ eyes. Or, Stiles has her eyes. Derek swallows and manages a little nod. “The pleasure’s mine, ma’am.”

“You didn’t tell me he was good looking, Mark,” she observes without letting go of Derek’s hand. He can feel his face start to heat. There’s a click, and he realizes with a start she’s snapped a photograph of him on her phone, thankfully while he was looking at the Sheriff.

Derek is, perhaps, out of his depth here.

The Sheriff rolls his eyes. “I didn’t think about it.” Derek clearly hears the, “Don’t ever _want_ to think about it,” that he mutters into his menu.

For some reason it relaxes him, just a little, and he lets his eyes return to Nanna’s face. She’s watching him closely, and he jolts. That seems to relax _her_ , and she lets go of his hands with a satisfied smile. He picks up a menu and fixes his eyes on it like it holds the secrets of the universe.

There’s some light chatter about ordering then, the Sheriff swift to point out that both he and Derek have to return to work and mustn’t linger over lunch, Derek nodding along in agreement. Nanna’s mouth twists wryly over that. He gets the feeling she doesn’t miss much.

They order and then there’s one awkward moment where Nanna asks warmly, “And your family, Derek, where are they. You’re from Beacon Hills, yes?”

The Sheriff freezes, clearly he hadn’t warned his mother about any of it. Luckily Derek has a lot of practise at avoiding hellishly awkward moments like this, it’s a common enough question. “My uncle lives in Beacon Hills, yes. My sister Laura is working in London at the moment. She should be home sometime next year.”

She hears exactly what he doesn’t say, and her gaze sharpens, though she’s clearly not ruthless enough to pursue that. The Sheriff will no doubt get the thankless task of telling her the details.

The subject changes, then, becomes more general and less aimed directly at Derek. He is thankfully not required to participate much beyond one-word answers.

He learns that Nanna lives in Monterey, that she has just decided to join the community theatre group there, and that she is terrifyingly devoted to zumba. There’s several moments where he catches the Sheriff covering his eyes while Nanna talks, as if he can avoid the mental image of his mother in lycra, and he can’t help the small smile it provokes. It seems so much like what Stiles would do if he were here.

Derek’s job comes up, it apparently earns him a lot of approval from Nanna, who was a nurse before she retired. He’s a little startled to realize he’s possibly being regarded as a _catch_ , but he can’t help breathing easier at the same time. He’d half expected some kind of stop-making-him-gay speech. Instead it seems there’s no gay backlash waiting for Stiles whatever he does – whoever he chooses, if anyone. After his birthday he’ll still have his Nanna and his father firmly in his corner...

It’s good.

There’s a brief, hilarious moment where Nanna is describing her first meeting with her husband, who, despite his surname had no idea of his heritage at all. “He thought he was so clever,” she says, amused, “Polish lessons, he tells me, instead of asking me to go dancing. Came to church with my mother instead of dragging me into a dark corner somewhere to get into my-”

 _“Mom,”_ the Sheriff says, horrified. Derek bites his lip.

“Well,” she says, shrugging, “he learned. The Polish I taught him was not exactly fit for company. I thought my uncle was going to hang him from the roof when he complimented my aunt’s cleavage instead of her cooking.”

Derek nearly inhales his water and spares a glance for the Sheriff who has covered his face with his hands.

“Strange,” she muses without a pause, and slants a wicked glance at Derek. “He was six years older than me, and yet, when he gave his heart he was so open, so trusting, like a boy in many ways. Life had been hard for him, he needed playfulness. It took a good thirty years, but he learned to laugh.”

The Sheriff shoots a hard glance first at his mother, then at Derek, and takes firm control of the conversation from that moment on. Derek is left staring at the tablecloth, utterly disconcerted to realize he’s accidentally passed some kind of test. For Nanna, at least.

Lunch is over fairly quickly and he’s stupidly relaxed by the end. There’s been no interrogation or threats, which he’d assumed was the whole point of the invitation. Had braced himself for the two of them politely warning him off.

He’d _expected_ to be weighed and measured. He just hadn’t expected any level of _approval_ once they were done. He knows what he is, and Derek does not make a great first impression. Though at least Nanna’s sneak attacks have settled his nerves enough for him to act more like a person and less like a wild animal.

Then the Sheriff, damn him, excuses himself to pay the bill and leaves Derek at the mercy of a sharp eyed senior citizen and his own inability to be openly rude to the elderly. Derek had always been Grandma’s favourite, and old habits linger.

“So you’re the one who is breaking my little żabka’s heart.”

Derek can feel his eyes go very wide. “Uh.”

“Don’t worry,” a warm, gnarled hand covers his, shakes it a little on the tablecloth. “It’s only a little ache, I think. If you were going to break his heart you would not have sat down to eat with his father and his grandmother, yes?”

Derek swallows. “I never want to hurt him.”

“You left him.”

“He’s only seventeen.”

“Ah.” She sits back a little. “Yes. I see.” She eyes him. “I was married at seventeen, you know.”

Now Derek is maybe having a little panic attack of his own, and then she laughs, gentle and husky.

“Don’t worry, mój wilku, I am having a little fun with you, that is all.”

He manages a smile, which she returns, but quickly she sobers. “It was hurting him. I could see it, but I could not fix it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The cheating. It’s not his way. It hurt him, in his heart, to do something he believed was wrong.” Her lips compress for a moment and Derek can see the guilt and worry over Stiles, layered over the fear of being old and poor and dependent. He can see why Stiles would have done almost anything for this woman. “But I couldn’t convince him to leave it to me.” She sighs. “He’ll go far to protect his family. Too far, sometimes.”

“Yes,” Derek says slowly. He’d wondered, briefly, what Stiles had told his Nanna about the money, where it was coming from.

“I have been telling him what I hope is true. These things will work out in the end. Those kids, the ones paying him, if they aren’t able to do the work in college, they won’t succeed. But perhaps some of them, they just needed the boost to get in, yes?”

“Yes,” he says again, light dawning. Stiles must have told her he’d been cheating on college exams or entrance essays or something. “I don’t think Stiles should be too hard on himself. _You_ shouldn’t worry about it either,” he adds without thinking. There are enough lines of care on Nanna’s face already.

She manages a wan smile at that. “And then suddenly he seemed – lighter. You gave him the rest of the money, I think?”

Derek just nods. Thank God, she talks just as much as Stiles. He doesn’t have to say much, doesn’t even have to particularly lie. It would be hard to lie to this woman, who looks at him with Stiles’ amber eyes.

“You’ll be having that fight for a long time,” she says cryptically. When Derek frowns at her in confusion, she laughs. “The one where he wants to pay you back.”

Ah. Derek just nods. He shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with her sudden scrutiny.

“You do not wish for my thanks, I can see,” she says slowly. “For the help you have given.”

He’s suddenly frozen.

She just waits, eyes watchful. Time has taught her a patience Stiles does not yet possess. “I didn’t want it,” Derek says stiffly. He flattens his hands on the tablecloth. “The money,” he adds a moment later, realizing he hasn’t been clear. “It wasn’t- I couldn’t.”

She folds her hands together, head bowed, much as if she were praying. “Jestem z tobą. You have lost much, I think, for one so young,” she murmurs. Thankfully the Sheriff appears before Derek has to speak.

He looks from Nanna to Derek and back again. _“Mamo,”_ he says, expressionless and yet watchful. _Mom_ , Derek translates at a guess. It has that kind of I’m-warning-you-though-I-can’t-actually-do-anything quality of a child who fears imminent embarrassing revelations.

“I really need to get back to work,” Derek says, swallowing hard. He gets to his feet slowly, and takes Nanna’s hand in his. “Mrs Stilinski,” he says softly, “It was an honor to meet you.”

She gets to her feet, surprising him. “You’re a good boy,” she says, and cups his face in her hands. Her eyes narrow on his. “Next Thanksgiving you’ll be at my table.”

Derek takes a deep breath that does nothing to steady his heart. “I hope so,” he says, and the Sheriff shifts behind him.

“O- _kay_ , time to go.”

They leave the restaurant together and Derek separates from them with an awkward wave. He’s not sure the Sheriff can cope with any more displays of affection. At the Camaro he opens the door and glances across the roof to where the Sheriff is ushering his mother into his car. As the Sheriff rounds the hood Nanna rolls down her window and looks at Derek. She’s a good twenty feet away, but she says in a normal tone of voice, “And when you are ready, I would very much like the honour of meeting your alpha.”

Derek’s keys hit the ground in a noisy clatter.

 


End file.
